


The Nearness Of Us

by Dulin



Series: The Nearness Arc [2]
Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-20
Updated: 2009-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulin/pseuds/Dulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloé has a headache and reflects on Aya.</p><p>Aya/Chloé. Side B, angst, Chloé POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nearness Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to _The Nearness of You._

When Aya smiles, it is blinding.

Of course, Aya doesn’t smile often. He doesn’t even smile for the customers, which, curiously, is the reason why they love him. He manages to make them feel important, to make them see that finding the perfect flowers for them is all that he lives for, without ever smiling.

I myself cultivate the art of being familiar without revealing too much. It’s not the same with Aya. He is closed, like a finely carved wooden box that someone would have lost the key of. His eyes are guarded, and he is obstinately quiet and deferent. He manipulates the flowers delicately, takes his time to wrap them, in brown paper or shiny transparent plastic, his fingers linger over the ribbon once he has finished tying the bow around the stems. But he doesn’t hold out his hand for the money, waiting for the client to put it on the counter instead. He all but throws the coins and bills into the cash register, as if their very contact was going to contaminate him, and he puts the change on the counter, thanking the client with a nod only.

It is quite fascinating to see Aya be friendly with greenery when he can’t even bring himself to be agreeable to his fellow human beings. I’m quite sure that he would enjoy being a florist if it didn’t actually involve selling flowers.

“I’m filling in for Free this afternoon.”

I jump so high that it is a wonder I don’t fall off my stool. I manage not to, but Aya’s raised eyebrows tell me that he is almost disappointed that I didn’t. He prides himself on being the only one who can sneak up on me, after all.

No one sneaks up on me. Or more exactly, no one ever tried before he arrived. I don’t know if he is getting back at me for our first meeting, when I royally kicked his ass. He was injured and he had a bad sword, but I kicked his ass nonetheless. The thing is, when you live in a house with other assassins and you are one yourself, you avoid sneaking up on anyone because it could end badly for everyone. The ‘no weapons in the house’ rule wouldn’t help make sure that no one is hurt. They just would be less hurt, that is all.

I glare at him as I rearrange myself on my seat. He shrugs, and sits down next to me.

“Why can’t Free come down this time ?” I ask in a whisper.

“He was in the middle of something that couldn’t be interrupted, if I understood well,” he answers. “He’ll take my shift tomorrow morning.”

Aya hates sleeping late. He doesn’t even need a alarm clock to be up around seven, whatever the time of year. He usually finds something to busy himself with until the rest of us lazy bums drag ourselves out of bed. Usually, it involves a book, a cup of tea, and a curled-up cat as a feet warmer. If he is not mad at me for something that I am not aware of having done, there will even be a second cup of tea waiting for me on the kitchen table when I wake up. If he is in an especially good mood, he will cook breakfast for everyone. He is the only one of us who volunteers when someone wants to trade a morning shift. It doesn’t usually happen the other way around.

“What do you need a free morning for ?”

He looks at me, and I can see the perplex expression on his face.

“I … don’t know. Free told me that I’d need it.”

I get up to fetch his mug from the cupboard next to the door that leads inside of the house and pour him some tea. It is lukewarm, but it will have to do until one of us has some time to go make a fresh pot. Mine must be cold by now, anyway.

He makes a face as he takes a sip, and I playfully slap his shoulder.

“If you don’t like it, go make some,” I say.

“I like it,” he answers very fast, and the corners of his mouth go up just a little.

I doubt he does, but he said it anyway, so now he has to finish the mug if it kills him.

****

“I’ll take over, Chloé ! You look terrible anyway, so why don’t you go in the back and rest ? We’ll be fine ! Won’t we, Aya ?”

It’s a rhetorical question, since Aya is currently watering the gardenias and has his back to us. He doesn’t exactly care whether I stay or go, since I have been pretty much useless for the past hour due to a headache. I have also been stubborn and refused to go until someone replaced me. Michel came home from school just as I was about to destroy the cash register and its little ringing sound.

“At least go change out of your uniform, Michel.”

“But …”

He looks like he is going to burst into tears if I don’t take a nap right away. Even Free melts when he does that, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t, but I told him numerous times that he is not to wear his uniform in the shop because removing grass stains from wool is not fun, and I speak as one who knows from experience.

“Five more minutes won’t kill me, Michel. Go change, and then I will lie down for a while.”

He zooms out of the shop and proceeds to break the world record time for changing. Michel always gets really worked up over my headaches. Well, Free also gets worked up, but his method involves less fussing.

I can hear Michel running down the stairs, but he is wise enough to stop stomping before he comes into the shop, and he smiles at me apologetically.

“I’m done.”

I pat his head, and rub my temples. My head is going to explode soon.

“If you need me … Well, you’d better not need me for the next two hours,” I say.

I’m about to get out when the sound of the water running stops, bringing my attention to Aya. He looks at me for a few long, interminable seconds, then goes back to his watering.

****

The den is pleasantly dark when I step inside. The window is shut and the drapes drawn. There is a blanket on the couch, and a pillow that was taken from my bed. Two tablets of aspirin and a glass of water on the table, and my book next to them. I am tempted to sigh happily, but that would involve producing some sort of sound and my brain just can’t take it right now. Even the soft clinking of the glass against the wood of the coffee table makes my teeth ache.

I take the aspirin and put the glass down on the carpeted floor. Then, I take off my shoes and curl up on the couch with the pillow and the blanket.

There is no sound in here. No buzzing from any kind of electronic appliance, no ticking from a clock. My teammates being considerate towards me when I’m in that state, they kindly take their noisy activities to some other part of the house. They come to check on me regularly, and if I’m lucky or he is in the mood, Free will even give me a massage to help me relax, and all of this in complete silence.

Being sensitive to other people’s emotions, no matter how dimly, is a pain that is almost physical at times. Animal emotions are simple. Hunger, sleep, hunt, danger, affection. It rarely goes further than that. Saying that human emotions are complex is the biggest understatement ever. Not only are they complex, but human beings have this habit of feeling several emotions at the same time, and if I drop my control only a tiny little bit, or if I am tired, avoiding contact for some time is the only way I know to restore some order in my head.

I usually take the morning shifts because there are fewer clients. Ken used to accuse me of being lazy until he learnt of my problem. Now he is being more thoughtful that I ever thought he could be when I need quiet. We seem to have reached an unspoken agreement that allows us to live together in relative peace and to speak to each other with courtesy. I have even found myself enjoying his company, although Aya’s arrival might have played in this.

It would be too much to say that Aya and Ken are friends, although they obviously share that deep companionship that links people who have killed together and watched each other’s back. I know that Aya trusts all of our skills, but he knows Ken. He knows how he moves, how he thinks during a fight. They can function as an independent unit without a problem, and I know that it was a relief for both of them to see each other again, even if neither of them said it. They have a strange, antagonistic relationship, and they often bicker, but they’re perfectly at ease with each other.

I think I might be a bit jealous of Ken, which annoys me to no end.

It is not that Aya is not at ease with me. As it is, I feel like I have found a kindred soul. We can sit side by side reading for hours. He doesn’t ask me how I want my tea when he stands up to make some. He is a pool of quiet and silence for me. Everyone in this house knows how to guard their thoughts and feelings. It is not only necessary for our cover, but also for everyday life. Yet … the atmosphere changed when he arrived.

I don’t want to be dependent on him.

I used to be able to calm down all by myself. Whenever I needed it, which was rarely, I just locked myself in my room and dealt with it. Then, Aya arrived, and Michel began to take over whenever I was too stressed out to cope. Free saw to it that I had a dark room available whenever I needed it. The blanket is now permanently folded on the back of the couch and Free makes sure that I don’t have to go rummage through the closet to find aspirin. The pillow is courtesy of Aya, and so is the book.

****

I didn’t use the pillow the first time I found it there. I was … angry, I think, because Aya had gone into my bedroom. Our bedrooms are off-limits to anyone unless they are invited in, and he had invited himself in. I was touched by his thoughtfulness, and ill at ease for reasons that I am still unable to explain.

I had obviously read too much in the gesture. Aya is as much of a private person as I am. Yuki is the only one who can come into Aya’s bedroom without knocking and not be glared at, but that’s mostly because he is cute and because he needs Aya.

Aya needs people to need him. I don’t want to need anyone. I know that I need people, but I do my best to ignore the fact.

****

I don’t know how Aya found out that I hadn’t used the pillow. The next time I had a headache, he marched into the den, made me sit up, grabbed the pillow from the floor, fluffed it up, put it on the couch and made me lie down again. He was nice enough not to slam the door when he went out.

****

“Chloé ?”

The whisper wakes me up, but it’s not ringing in my head, and I take it as a good sign. I open my eyes slowly to find Aya kneeling next to the couch. His hand hovers above me, like he wants to touch me but isn’t sure whether I would welcome it or not. Then he seems to make up his mind and strokes my cheek softly with his fingers. They are cool against my skin but I have been buried under my blanket for a few hours now.

“It’s worse than usual, isn’t it ?”

He is keeping his voice low, looking for any wince that could indicate that he is talking too loud. I nod, my cheek rubbing against the pillow. He sits down on the floor.

“Do you want more aspirin ?”

I shake my head, and he sighs.

“I should go back. Michel won’t manage alone for too long.”

In spite of my state, I’m fast enough to grab his shirt.

“Could you … stay with me a little while ? Please ?”

I can feel dull pain pulsating behind my eyes, and I’m probably going to sleep some more, but … I don’t want him to go.

He hesitates for a minute. Then, he smiles, and it takes my breath away, like always. He slowly untangles my fingers from his shirt and kisses my knuckles, and I shiver at the sensation of his lips on my hand.

“I’ll go ask Ken to take over for me.”

I almost open my mouth to protest, but he is right. Michel _will_ need help in the shop.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“I’ll be right back.”

Five minutes later, I can hear Ken hurriedly going down the stairs while trying to make as little noise as possible. There is a hushed conversation behind the door, and then Aya comes back in.

“Are you okay ?” he asks.

“Think so,” I answer.

I run my hand through my hair. It is all sweaty. I will have to take a shower once I’m feeling better. Aya doesn’t seem to mind the sweat. He comes closer, kneels on the floor again, and pushes my hair back from my face. I can feel strands of it sticking to my skin.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling miserable all of a sudden.

“There’s no need to be.”

I make an attempt at a smile.

“You’re too nice to me.”

His hand stops moving for a fraction of a second, but I’ve noticed it.

“I’ve been called many things in my life, but nice has never been one of them,” he murmurs.

“Your point being ?”

“Nothing. Just go to sleep, Chloé. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You’d better,” I say, closing my eyes.


End file.
